


iconoclast

by facingthenorthwind (spacegandalf)



Series: everybody lives (except peter) [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Everyone lives except Peter Pettigrew), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegandalf/pseuds/facingthenorthwind
Summary: Peter Pettigrew was found dead in an alleyway in 1981 underneath a Dark Mark. A month later, the war ended, and the investigation into his death was lost in the avalanche of work necessary to rebuild after Voldemort.Fourteen years later, Remus Lupin receives a letter questioning whether Peter really died a hero after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The concept for this fic was entirely Kayla, I merely wrote it. Also infinite thanks goes to ao3 user renaissance, who sat through me making a lot of distressed noises. Additional thanks goes to Chiara who was so lovely and supportive and also anyone else I've forgotten who helped me wrangle this mess into something coherent.

It began with a letter. 

Remus was sitting at home, quill in hand and a smudge of ink on his nose as he thought about how to best teach to the learning outcomes of the Fourth Year curriculum. At the end of his first and only year of teaching, Snape had let the wolf out of the bag, as it were, so he no longer had a job in the classroom, but Dumbledore was paying him to create various standardised curricula -- last year he'd been to a teacher training course on the continent and now he was trying to make sure that even if there was no stability in terms of who taught Hogwarts students Defence Against the Dark Arts, they would at least have a decent baseline to work from.

The letter was addressed to him in Harry's familiar, messy scrawl, but the letter itself was neater -- as if Harry had copied it carefully from a draft, making sure each letter was legible. As if he were nervous, and the letter important.

Remus considered calling Sirius over but hesitated at the last minute -- there was a reason Harry had addressed it just to him and not to both of them, probably. He usually wrote to them both, and in reply they'd answer him together, one of them writing and the other backseat letter-writing (inevitably causing a somewhat messy parchment). So he first read the letter alone.

> Dear Moony,
> 
> I usually don't pay any attention to what Malfoy says, but he said something to me yesterday at dinner and I can't stop thinking about it. He said my parents have terrible taste in friends -- a halfbreed, a blood traitor and then just a straight up traitor. I know that the first two mean you and Padfoot (you're both brilliant by the way, Mum and Dad have excellent taste in friends), but who's the third? Is it Wormtail? You said that he died during the war, right?
> 
> I know I should probably ask Dad about this but I know he's really emotional about Wormtail. Once he got drunk and started crying about it and I don't want that to happen again.
> 
> It's probably just something stupid Malfoy said to bother me and it's all a total lie, but it seems like such a specific thing and I never even met him, so why would Malfoy bother? 
> 
> Hermione says I'm thinking too much about Malfoy again but Moony he's just such a dick. 
> 
> Do you know what’s going on? Say hi to Padfoot for me, I’ll see you both at the next Hogsmeade weekend.
> 
> Harry

Remus’s first instinct was to dismiss it completely. Malfoy was either wrong or lying to get under Harry’s skin — and he was clearly very successful. And yet… And yet Peter’s death had been odd. Not uniquely so, but it was enough to give Remus pause. He put the letter in a drawer and told himself he’d write back to Harry to tell him Malfoy was just trying to get a rise out of him, but by dinnertime he still hadn’t brought himself to do it.

What if there _was_ something to it? 

“What’s eating you?” Sirius asked him as they ate dinner.

“Nothing,” he said distractedly, but as soon as he said it he knew Sirius hadn’t bought it.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, come on. You’ve been a million miles away every single time I’ve spoken to you today.”

Remus opened his mouth and then hesitated. Sirius had taken Peter’s death so hard — he’d said it was his fault, or some nonsense. He clung to the knowledge that Peter died a heroic death as if it absolved him of something, and Remus didn’t want to take that away. 

The way Sirius was looking at him made it clear that he didn’t really have a choice.

“Harry sent a letter. I’ll go get it.” 

He felt a little like he was walking to the gallows as he retrieved the letter. He briefly considered lying — changing the letter, not opening this can of worms that at best would give them food poisoning and at worst, botulism. But they’d both had enough of keeping secrets during the war. Nothing could be worse than the months they’d spent living in distrust, the temperature slowly rising until Sirius had pulled his wand on him when he returned from one of Dumbledore’s missions and ordered him to roll up his sleeve. 

He handed Sirius the letter silently. There was nothing he could say.

“Doesn’t pay any attention to Malfoy? That’s all he does! If he paid half as much attention to his exams—” Sirius said, and Remus couldn’t help but smile — he knew it was all going to go to shit in a moment, but until then, Harry’s weird _thing_ about Malfoy was always worth laughing about.

It felt like Sirius took an age to read the short letter, but Remus was sure it was barely any time at all.

“So what’s got your knickers in a twist then? Malfoy says something to get under Harry’s skin, it works, surprise surprise, and no one tells Harry he’s got a big fat crush because he’s got terrible taste and I hope he never realises?”

Remus inclined his head to acknowledge the last part. He certainly wasn’t going to _lie_ if Harry ever asked him about it, but he wasn’t going to voluntarily bring it up — Sirius was right, nothing good could come of it. Also, Malfoy was a right arsehole and if Harry brought him home for Christmas Remus didn’t know what he’d do.

But that wasn’t relevant right now, so he took a deep breath before ruining everything. 

“Harry’s got a point, though,” he began slowly. “He never met Wormtail — it’s a strange detail to make up. Especially when everything else he said is true.”

“And by true you mean inflammatory bullshit.”

“Phrased in a derogatory way, perhaps, but not untrue. He didn’t even need to mention Peter, is the thing — he’s been dead for fourteen years.”

“So the kid’s been studying up on the childhood friends of his nemesis/crush’s parents, it’s weird but I don’t see why you’re worried about it.”

“What if Peter _was_ a traitor?” Remus said quietly.

“What? No,” Sirius said, and he wasn’t angry — yet. He just looked at Remus as if he’d suggested they jump off the roof of Gryffindor Tower in the buff without wands. 

“It never made much sense, how he died.”

“And neither did Caradoc’s disappearance, but you don’t see me besmirching his name.”

“I’m not about to announce it in the _Prophet_ , I just think perhaps — we could look into it.” 

“There’s nothing to find, Moony. Wormtail — he’s—” Sirius faltered and ran a hand through his hair. “Just leave it, alright?”

Remus watched him go, his dinner still on the table. He hadn’t touched the peas. Of course he hadn’t.

* * *

> Dear Harry,
> 
> You should probably listen to Hermione. She’s usually right about things, you know. As for the traitor, I have no idea what Malfoy’s talking about — the fourth member of our gang at school was Wormtail, but he was murdered by Death Eaters during the war. Lots of people were, in those days. 
> 
> He’s just trying to rile you. How are you? How is school? You’ve got some Ministry person in for Defence this year, right? How’s that?
> 
> I’ll see you in a few weeks in Hogsmeade. Three Broomsticks as usual.
> 
> Padfoot sends his love, as do I.
> 
> Moony

* * *

The problem with finding out more about Peter’s death was that Remus had no idea where to start. If they could have figured it out at the time, they would have — but Voldemort had been so active, and they didn’t have time. They could barely afford the time to have funerals for everyone who died, let alone investigate the disappearances and the corpses that turned up during the night. Peter had just been one of many.

He was sure Sirius would have plenty of ideas if he were involved, but as Remus expected, Sirius had just pretended the whole conversation never happened. It wasn’t worth bringing up again. 

The _Prophet_ had been useless during the war — it reported deaths, of course, but never did any investigative journalism and it had completely ignored the role of blood supremacy in the rise of the Death Eaters in the first place. Then again, there were already articles claiming Voldemort hadn’t even returned in June, now, so it was just a good thing that the _Prophet_ hadn’t been quite so intertwined with the Ministry back then. 

When Remus checked the archives, the only mention of Peter’s murder was a few sentences long:

> LONDON—Peter Pettigrew, 21, was found dead in Diagon Alley on Monday morning. Cause of death was the killing curse. Anyone with any information about the death should contact the Auror Department immediately.

No one had contacted the Aurors, and the trail had gone cold. Voldemort had been killed only a month later, but once that happened everyone had been so focused on rebuilding everything and catching the Death Eaters still at large that Peter’s death had never been investigated. The Order had lost so many people that year that they stopped asking why or how — it barely even seemed to register as a murder. It felt like Peter had died of natural causes or some tragic accident — they were sad he was dead, of course, and James in particular would get teary about it when Peter was mentioned, but there was no great need for answers.

They’d abandoned so many questions once the war was over, desperate as they were to discover how to live in a world of peace. Perhaps they’d been too quick to discard them.

At the next Order meeting, while Sirius was completely absorbed in discussing the latest development in goblin union bargaining with Bill, he slipped Tonks a piece of parchment and asked her if she could get him copies of the Auror files on what he’d written down (namely, Peter’s name and date of death). She almost tripped over her words in her hurry to say yes, and Remus tried not to visibly wince. Was he taking advantage of her crush by asking her this? He was always wearing his wedding ring, for God’s sake, and he was far too old for her, so he had no idea why she still flirted with him at meetings. 

He tried to justify it to himself that he would have asked Shacklebolt if Tonks hadn’t come that night — but Shacklebolt was a little intimidating, honestly, and would ask more questions than he’d like.

When she gave him the folder (it was incredibly thin, as he expected), he said he owed her one and went into the kitchen to escape the look she was giving him, which he immediately regretted because then he had to help Molly cook. Molly was an excellent cook, and tolerable enough (once she’d stopped being flustered about the time she’d inquired about his wife), but Remus left a lot to be desired in the kitchen. He burnt the peas, which was a feat, and blushed bright red when Sirius asked if he had been responsible for the unique flavour profile of the vegetables. 

The mood was a little lighter than it had been at Order headquarters for the last few weeks since Sturgis had been caught. They’d all agreed it would be best to lie low for a month or so to avoid anything being connected to Sturgis, who had suffered enough having to go to Azkaban for six months (though he knew exactly what the risks were when he joined, of course). So while there were plans to make, the meeting was over and they could just enjoy a good meal in the company of friends.

He spent the evening laughing about Harry trying to start some secret rebellion in the Hog’s Head, of all places. James said he’d send him a letter saying he wasn’t angry, just disappointed that Harry had clearly learnt nothing from him — he had failed as a parent if his son was not taking advantage of the hubbub in the Three Broomsticks to do all kinds of subversive activities. Sirius spoke wistfully of asking Harry to retrieve the Marauder’s Map from Filch’s office, and Lily rolled her eyes and forbade it in a tone that said she had had this conversation several times before. 

He managed to forget about the thin folder until he was getting ready for bed and it fell out of his cloak and onto the floor. 

It had been fourteen years, and Remus still felt like a terrible person every time he forgot to miss him.


	2. the monster at the end of the book

The Ministry file had the same information as the _Prophet_ and not much else in terms of certainties, but there were plenty of handwritten notations that made Remus feel like this was actually an achievable goal. He could find out the truth and put this all to rest. Moody had been the investigator on Peter’s death, and it was his handwriting that covered the files — some of them didn’t make sense to Remus, but others were promising indeed. He couldn’t help but assume that all of them would’ve been utterly useless to any non-Order member having a look at the file, because most of them were veiled references to Order business: a _Dearborn???_ here, a _Lake District?_ there. 

It became clear, once Remus had read through everything (the work of a single morning, depressingly), that Moody had thought Peter’s death was connected to the spy within the Order. They’d never _really_ confirmed that the spy had existed, but it had become obvious that there was one from about mid-1980 — ambushes didn’t work; people were caught hiding in places that had been secure; people were murdered. 

Peter’s death hadn’t had any similarities to the other deaths they’d connected to the mole: they had been ostentatious, gloating, whereas Peter could have been a muggle heart attack but for the Dark Mark above his body, placed there almost as an afterthought. 

He’d been discarded like rubbish. 

When Remus asked Sirius if he needed anything while he was out, Sirius barely looked up from the maps he was studying to say no. Instead of going to the shops, Remus ended up at Moody’s house, a cramped terrace that looked barely lived in. 

“I’ve been looking into Peter’s death,” he began when Moody opened the door, eyed him suspiciously and stood aside to let him in. “Harry asked me about it. I got the file from Tonks — you were in charge of the investigation, weren’t you?”

“I was, but I don’t see the relevance — wrong war, Lupin.” He turned around without indicating Remus should follow him into the living room, but Remus did anyway.

Moody managed to make Remus feel fifteen years younger than he was, and not necessarily in a good way. He always felt as he had the first few Order meetings: like a naive teenager who had no idea what he was getting himself into. Moody had warmed up to him, especially since Remus took fewer stupid risks than the others, but the magical eye made him feel naked and exposed and like he should have something to hide.

“As I said, Harry asked about it. He didn’t want to bother James — gets weepy, you know — and I just… I want answers too. It’s been too long without them. I failed Peter fourteen years ago, so it’s better late than never that I get to the bottom of it now.” 

Moody grunted as he sat down and motioned for the file. Remus handed it over, taking a seat on an armchair that was definitely older than he was. “So you think Peter was killed by the spy, too?”

Moody gave him a look. “No, I think he _was_ the spy.”

Remus blinked, certain he’d misheard for a moment. It was one thing to suggest it to Sirius, but quite another to hear it from Alastor Moody. Moody rolled his eyes, both of them, and cast a spell that revealed concealed notes Remus hadn’t even seen.

“Before the war ended I was trying to investigate it, sow some false information to certain people as a test, but I didn’t have long enough. His death was weird, so I looked into it more — we weren’t betrayed after he died; probably the reason we were able to get Voldemort in the end.”

“Why didn’t you — why didn’t you say anything?” Remus had gone looking for this information, but now that he had it he found he didn’t really want it. As much as he had thought he wasn’t dependent on the story of Peter dying a heroic death, a casualty of war, he felt sick at the idea of it not being true. 

“Couldn’t prove it. Still can’t. I’m pretty sure it’s true, but I don’t have enough information in some places, and there was too much work to do catching Death Eaters to chase things up.”

“What information are you missing? I might be able to help,” Remus said, even as a voice that sounded much like Sirius said he was breaking some kind of sacred bond between brothers. 

By the time they’d finished going over all the facts, Remus had a pit gnawing at his stomach and a terrible certainty that Draco Malfoy had been right.

* * *

Remus woke up at three in the morning, shivering, to find the other side of the bed cold. A stab of fear ran through his chest before he woke up enough to think about it rationally: nothing bad could have happened to Sirius. No one would have killed Sirius and kept him alive; they had wards around the house; sometimes, people just couldn’t sleep and decided to read a book in another room at 3am! Not Sirius, generally, but Remus knew some people did. 

Even as he continued rationalising to himself that this was all normal and fine, he grabbed his wand from the nightstand before creeping out of the bedroom. He didn’t have to guess where Sirius was: the light in the dining room was on. From the corridor, he could see there was paper covering the table, but not Sirius, so he kept his wand held high as he entered the room, forgetting about the one floorboard that gave such a loud creak that Sirius jumped in surprise. 

For a moment, they stood there facing each other: Remus in ratty pyjama pants and a worn Wimbourne Wasps t-shirt, holding his wand as if to attack Sirius; Sirus bare-chested, his face pale and his eyes too bright, looking up at Remus as if he were the last thing Sirius expected. 

Remus lowered his wand.

“It’s three in the morning,” he said, not sure where to start and figuring this was as good a place as any.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sirius said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about—” He broke off and continued more quietly, “—about Wormtail.” 

The paper covering the table was the contents of the file Remus had taken to Moody’s and left on his desk the night before. He had wanted to go over it one more time to figure out in his head how he would convince Sirius and had resolved to do it tomorrow. 

“I thought you didn’t want me to look into it,” he said, taking the seat next to him. 

“I didn’t. Wormtail — he was a Marauder, he couldn’t have betrayed us. But it just wouldn’t go away, the thought that maybe you were right. And I knew you were still looking into it, even though I told you to let it alone, because that’s what I would’ve done. How—” Sirius ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end even more than it had been before. “How could we have missed this? We should have known! We should have figured it out, should’ve seen it — we spent plenty of time with him.”

“We weren’t living with him, though. James moved in with Lily and Peter said he had to go back to Dorset to take care of his mother — was she actually sick? Did we visit? Surely we would’ve visited.” Perhaps this was why Peter had gone to Voldemort — his only friends were shit enough that they didn’t even visit his grievously ill mother. Remus rubbed his face and stood up. That line of thought was ridiculous, something as small as that didn’t lead you to _murder_ people. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, standing up, because it wasn’t as if either of them would be going to bed now. 

Sirius was rummaging through the papers and scribbling notes when Remus returned, though Remus didn’t know what for. He took a sip of tea as soon as Remus handed it to him, gasped, and almost spilt it, catching himself at the last second. To Remus’s eyes he looked a little less haunted, though. 

“What’s that?” Remus asked, pointing at the page. Sirius had annotated the files as well, a few words here and there in the green ink he favoured. 

“Things you forgot. The day before Benjy went missing, Wormy said he was going to visit his uncle in Kent — remember, ‘cause it was the full moon? He seemed nervous, and I thought at the time maybe he thought you’d be angry at him for missing it, but…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He’d still not said it out loud.

After making a final note (Remus couldn’t read the page because Sirius’s arm was in the way), Sirius straightened up, nodding to himself before saying, “We’ve got to tell Prongs.”

Remus found himself nodding before he caught himself and said, “It’s half three.”

“He needs to know!” Sirius stood up and stared at Remus defiantly, as if Remus would physically restrain him. Remus had no intention of that at all, because it was half three and he was exhausted.

“I know, but he doesn’t need to know at half three. The truth has kept for fourteen years; it’ll keep a few hours longer. Also, you’re on your last strike with seeing Lily naked. Hexing your cock off was not an idle threat, and I suspect it wasn’t a figure of speech either.”

This last made Sirius consider, thankfully, and he sat back down. 

“I don’t know how we’re going to tell him,” he said, shoulders sagging as he deflated. 

“We’ll explain it, just like it’s all laid out here.”

“He’ll be devastated,” Sirius continued as if Remus hadn’t spoken. He looked down at his hands and rubbed the ink smudged on one of his fingertips. 

“I know, but it’ll be alright. Come to bed and we can deal with it in the morning.” Remus kissed his forehead and put an arm around him, making as if to pull him up. He didn’t have a chance in hell, but Sirius got the idea and stood up under his own power. “It’ll be better in the morning.” It wouldn’t — Peter would still have betrayed them, they would still have to break the news to James, and Sirius would probably still be wearing the expression Remus remembered from the war: the lost, haunted, hunted look. 

At least the bed was warmer with Sirius in it.


	3. iconoclasm

For all his urgency in the wee hours, Sirius slept like the dead until ten. Remus recognised this for the reprieve it was and relished the late morning: neither of them had guard duty, and the moon was new, offering him a brief respite from the constant ache in his bones that ebbed and flowed like the tide. When Sirius finally woke up, he burrowed further into the bed and finally rolled over to kiss Remus’s shoulder; if it hadn’t been heartbreaking, it would have been comical how Remus could tell the exact moment he remembered what had happened the night before. Sirius froze, his breath hot, damp puffs of air on Remus’s skin, and when it appeared he was stuck there, Remus rolled over to face him.

“Good morning,” he said, glad to see that Sirius looked a little healthier this morning. Less manic, though just as sad.

“Morning,” Sirius said, sighing. “Shit.”

“We can go over it while we eat breakfast and then floo to Godric’s Hollow?” Remus suggested. ‘Relief’ was perhaps too strong a word for the emotion that flickered across Sirius’s face, but it was some distant cousin; at least Sirius only had to follow a plan, now, not create one out of whole cloth.

At eleven-thirty Remus stuck his head into the fireplace to ask if they could come over. James was cooking something that smelled amazing, cumin and cardamom and cinnamon, and his grin was so wide at the sight of Remus that he almost wanted to forget the reason for their visit entirely; the news would keep for a day, a week. A year. They could just never tell him— 

No. Sirius wouldn’t be able to look James in the face until they did. He was a fantastic liar to everyone except his loved ones. 

So they arrived in Godric’s Hollow, brushed soot off their trousers, gave Lily a hug and a kiss on the cheek, gave James a hug, commented on the delectable smells wafting in from the stove and then, finally, became sombre when James asked what the occasion was.

Remus pulled the file out of his pocket, tapped it to enlarge it, and took a seat at the table. James and Lily had immediately noticed the change in atmosphere and were exchanging worried looks. “It’s about Wormtail,” Remus began, though he wasn’t sure how to continue. They had planned this, and he still wasn’t sure how to do it.

“You know how there was a spy inside the Order in ‘81?” Sirius said, fiddling with the edge of the file as he sat next to Remus, unnecessarily close so that he could press his thigh up against Remus’s. 

James and Lily nodded, sitting on the other side.

“It was Wormtail,” Sirius said. Remus thought they had planned some way to soften the blow, but he would follow Sirius’s lead: they had all been Marauders, but Sirius and James had been brothers.

“What? No,” James said, laughing nervously, a note of hysteria in his voice. “You’re having me on.”

“It’s true,” Remus said. “I’m sorry.”

James shook his head. “You’re wrong. There’s been a mistake. Our Wormtail wouldn’t — he couldn’t be the spy! Wormtail! You both knew him!”

Lily, in contrast to James’s disbelieving outbursts, was still and silent. She caught Remus’s eye and raised her eyebrows slightly; he nodded in response. 

“Darling,” she said quietly, but James shook his head again, refusing.

“He was killed by the spy!” James said triumphantly, as if he’d found the fact that would unravel their theory. “How could he be the spy if he died?”

It was an excellent question, given it was the one thing they could never know. Remus wasn’t sure how to answer, but Sirius had clearly anticipated it. “Regulus died even though he was a Death Eater. We know Voldemort kills his own. Maybe — that was what, two days after we captured Snyde? It was such a blow that I wouldn’t be surprised if Voldemort blamed Wormtail for it.”

James opened his mouth to protest more but then closed it. Remus could see the cogs turning in his head, running the calculations and coming up with answers he didn’t want. He deflated, his righteous anger at their accusation dissipating as the truth dawned on him. It was horrible to watch, and Remus wished they didn’t have to do it.

Finally, James did speak: “But it _did_ succeed. Things had been going so poorly for so long, and then we had that big break, perhaps he tried to back out? Why didn’t he go to the aurors or Dumbledore? We could’ve protected him.” He sat up straighter as he spoke, more animated at the idea that Peter had come good in the end. 

“Would you have wanted to?” Remus said quietly.

“Of course,” James said quickly. 

Lily took his hand. “You wouldn’t have been able to. He would have gone straight to Azkaban — he murdered people. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, Dorcas… I wouldn’t have been surprised if Moody killed him as soon as he confessed.”

James sank back down in his seat again, hunched over slightly. For a moment, no one spoke — there was nothing to be said. Peter Pettigrew, a man they’d known since their first day at Hogwarts, was responsible for the murder of at least half a dozen of their friends, likely more. There was no saying if he would have betrayed the other Marauders, had he survived longer.

“What’s that?” James said at last, using the hand Lily wasn’t holding to point to the folder.

“Proof. There’s no way to know the circumstances of his death short of asking a Death Eater who was there at the time, and I can’t think of any who would volunteer the information. The rest of it’s solid, though. Should probably return it to Tonks eventually, but we can leave it here for you if you like.”

James nodded, sighing. He looked older than he had when they arrived, though Remus didn’t know if it was just him noticing that James Potter, just like the rest of them, was thirty-five. It was hard to reconcile the idea of friends you had known most of your life getting older, and even harder to see it — it happened so slowly as to be invisible. 

He looked thirty-five now, though.

“How did you find out?” James asked. “I can’t imagine Moody has the spare time to pick up an open-and-shut murder from 1981.” 

Remus hesitated a moment before saying, “Harry wrote me a letter. He said Draco Malfoy told him Wormtail was a traitor, and wanted clarification. Would you prefer to tell him? I haven’t said anything about this — I only found out yesterday.”

“Why would he ask you? He didn’t mention it to me at all.”

Remus gave him a small smile. “He was trying to protect you. Apparently he saw you crying about Wormtail once and thought he shouldn’t bother you with it.”

James made a sound that could have been a laugh if he’d put in more effort. “Damn that son of mine for being so considerate. I know it won’t mean much to him — he never met Wormtail, not really — but it seems like the kind of thing you should do in person, not in a letter. There’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, we could do it then?”

“You want us there?” Remus said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Of course. He asked you originally, and you’re the ones who did the research.”

Remus hesitated. James seemed fine (well, not fine at all, but fine in the very specific context of Harry asking Remus about this instead of him), but there was — an edge to it. It was as if James were fine but he could see the line where the fine ended, sharp enough he could cut himself on it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be there, mixed up in James’s complicated emotions caught between the war and the son he’d almost managed to raise in peace.

“I’m sure Harry would want to see you,” Lily said, and it was this that finally made Remus acquiesce. He wasn’t sure what was best — or who for — but if someone else made the decision then he could just follow.

They left soon after, leaving the folder and spending the rest of the day in subdued silence. Lily sent a message that night saying that James was alright — he’d cried but he hadn’t done anything stupid. Remus supposed that was all he could hope for, really.

* * *

There was a steady drizzle on the day they went to meet Harry in the Three Broomsticks. There was no ideal location for this kind of thing, so they may as well pick a place that had decent chips and plenty of butterbeer. It had snowed earlier in the week and the streets were a slushy mess, making Remus grateful that he had finally bought new waterproof boots. 

Madam Rosmerta smiled at them as they entered but was too busy to chat; she pointed to the corner furthest from the door where Lily, James and Harry were already waiting for them. James spotted them when they were halfway across the room, and stiffened slightly. Remus’s chest ached as he saw how James held himself slightly apart from Harry as they approached.

“Hi Harry,” Sirius said as he took the seat next to him, leaving Remus to slide onto the bench on the other side of the table next to Lily. “I’m sure you’d rather be spending this time with your friends instead of us, it’s good of you to let us take up your time like this.”

Harry blushed a little. “No, no, I want to. Dad wouldn’t tell me why though — or why we had to wait for you two. What’s going on?”

Sirius looked to Remus. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus could see James shrinking into himself a little — something that was entirely foreign to James, and the feeling in Remus’s chest only grew.

“You know how you wrote to me about Peter, and how Draco Malfoy said he was a traitor? I’ve done more research since I replied to you, and Draco Malfoy was right.” 

For a moment, Harry looked triumphant, and he smiled, but then he saw his father and he quickly schooled his face into something more serious, less elated. Remus wanted to laugh: he’d seen Sirius do similar things in the past, but it didn’t look quite right on Harry — he was missing the savage edge Sirius had.

Harry was silent once he had swallowed the urge to exclaim, “I knew it!”, but then he looked back up at Remus and asked the question Remus didn’t want to answer: “Why?”

“We don’t know,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “He didn’t write anything down, and there’s no Death Eaters I can think of who would answer questions about it.”

“But… he was your friend, wasn’t he?”

James flinched, and Harry looked at Remus, as if he were silently asking him what he should do. 

“He was our friend,” Remus began slowly, glad that he had chosen to sit next to Lily and not James. “We thought he was our friend.”

“Then why would he have betrayed you?” Harry asked, as if it were that simple: the sun rises in the east, dragons breathe fire, friends don’t betray friends.

“There was a war on,” Lily said, looking at Harry. “You don’t understand what it was like back then.”

“I want to!” Harry said, full of the teenage bravado the war had robbed from everyone else at the table. “You won’t ever talk about it, so how am I ever meant to understand?”

“You’re not,” James said abruptly. “I hope you never do.”

“But Voldemort’s back, and the war will probably start again, and Ron says that Bill’s in the Order—”

“Harry,” Lily said sharply, and he fell silent. “Bill is ten years older than you and Ron. If you were twenty-five, we would let you make your own choice, but you’re not. Also, do remember we’re in a public place.” She reached over the table to take his hand and her tone softened as she continued, “We would never want you to have the experience we did — we were all born in wartime, we lived in wartime, we didn’t know anything else until it was over. We want what’s best for you, darling. We want you to have a childhood, and have the opportunity to not have to worry about the fate of the country, or worry that people you love are going to die.”

Harry took his hand back and looked down at the table. “I know. I just — I want to help!”

“I know you do, but the most helpful thing you can do is stay safe and far away from all of this.”

“Can I fight when I’m of age?”

Lily looked at James, and Remus saw identical expressions of concern and fear and weariness. “I’m sure the war will be over before then,” Lily said finally.

It sounded hollow, but no one was going to contradict her.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Harry said after several gulps of butterbeer. “Why would he betray you? I know you don’t know, but you must have ideas.”

“We’d — we’d paired off, and I guess we didn’t spend as much time with Peter as we used to,” James said, running a hand through his hair. “Even so, I can’t imagine he sought them out. Maybe they saw him as an easy target. He was always… easily persuadable.” The twist of a smile James gave Remus and Sirius was completely joyless, and Remus knew they were all thinking of the same thing: the way they’d used that to their advantage many times at school, not caring that it was dickish at best and cruel at worst. 

“But — but he was your friend,” Harry repeated, quietly, as if he were looking at a puzzle he just couldn’t figure out. 

“Maybe they threatened to kill him,” James said.

“Then he should have died!” The outburst from Sirius was completely unexpected — Remus and Lily both started in shock, and James clutched his mug tighter. Sirius’s face was thunderous, and Remus didn’t know what to do — should he drag Sirius outside? Sirius would hate him for humiliating him in front of Harry. “He knew the information he was passing on was killing people. He should have died rather than betray them.”

There was nothing really to say to that, so they sat in an uncomfortable silence, the jarringly cheerful sounds of the pub washing over them as they all worked to not meet each others’ eyes.

“He’s right,” Lily said quietly. “He should have died.” Remus remembered suddenly that she was one of the first on the scene at the McKinnon place: Marlene and her husband in the living room, and the children in their bedrooms, cowering behind furniture. The youngest had been six.

James had begun to cry, and Remus looked up to see Harry looking horrified at the rest of the table. “I’m — I’m sorry,” he stammered, rising to his feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — I’ll—” and he ran out of the pub.

Remus watched him go, and when he turned back James was staring forlornly after Harry, his face splotchy. Lily began to get up to follow Harry, but Remus shook his head, standing up and saying, “I’ll go, you look after Prongs.”

Lily hesitated for a moment before nodding her assent. 

Remus was concerned that he wouldn’t be able to find Harry — he could be anywhere in Hogsmeade, after all — but as he stood outside the pub he heard soft, wet gasps, as if someone were crying but trying to be quiet about it. He followed the sound around the corner to see Harry sitting in the laneway against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“Harry,” Remus called as he walked slowly towards him.

“Go away,” Harry said in a muffled voice.

“If you want me to go away, I will, but tell me what’s wrong first?” Remus sat next to him. Thankfully, the roof extended over the laneway so they didn’t have to sit in the slush that covered the ground. 

“I’m a terrible person,” Harry said, still muffled by his clothing. “I made Dad cry. I should’ve just ignored Malfoy, it wasn’t even important.”

“You didn’t make him cry,” Remus said. “It’s not your fault Peter did terrible things. And it’s not your fault that we found out the truth, either. Realistically, I’m not sure the truth changes anything, but it’s certainly not a bad thing to have. You were curious — anyone in your position would be. We were all like you at your age, especially your dad and Padfoot.”

“What?” Harry lifted his head up to frown at Remus. “What do you mean?”

“We were curious about the war, too — we wanted to fight. Padfoot wanted to leave school early, even, but we convinced him not to. Well, McGonagall scared him out of it, I think is more accurate. And when we finished school we did fight, and it was — it was awful. I know you think none of us tell you about the war because we’re, I don’t know, dicks or we don’t want you to know, or something.”

“I don’t think you’re dicks,” Harry mumbled.

“We don’t tell you because we’re still too sad about it, is the truth. Lots of our friends died, and we had to do some… some things we’re not proud of. It’s not even one of those things where we’re keeping things from you for your own good — they’re selfish reasons.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong, and you’re asking perfectly reasonable questions. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I might be able to find some books that might help? From memory, an auror wrote one a few years after the war ended, but I can’t remember what it’s called. I’ll look it up and send it to you. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, wiping his nose on his sleeve and cleaning his glasses with his shirt. 

“Would you like to go back inside?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry said after considering it for a moment. “You’re sure Dad’s not angry at me?”

“Completely sure.”

Remus offered Harry a hand up, and they walked back into the pub together.

* * *

It was two months later, soon after Harry had returned to school after winter holidays, that Remus once more received a letter addressed only to him in Harry’s abysmal handwriting. He steeled himself before opening it, but he didn’t have to worry over showing it to Sirius — he laughed as he read the short letter and Sirius overheard, poking his head into the study to see what was so amusing about the intercepted Death Eater communications he was going through for Thursday night’s Order meeting.

“I’ve got terrible news, Padfoot,” he said, making a half-hearted effort to hide his grin. “All of your worst fears have come true.” He gave Sirius the letter and watched as his face fell into a comical expression of horror.

“Oh no,” Sirius said.

> Dear Moony,
> 
> Sorry to bother you again — the last time I wrote you a letter because I didn’t know who else to talk to about it went terribly, but I’m feeling lost and I guess it can’t go worse? Maybe?
> 
> I don’t even know if you’re going to be able to help me because you and Sirius got together when you were still at school, didn’t you? Anyway, I should stop avoiding it: what do I do if I might kind of fancy someone that my friends wouldn’t approve of? And probably Mum and Dad too. And probably you. Bugger.
> 
> I know I should just ignore it and hope it goes away but I think maybe the person might fancy me back? 
> 
> I’m going to send this before I second guess it and throw it in the bin (again). Sorry. Hope you and Padfoot are good!
> 
> Harry

“What do I write back?” Remus asked. As funny as he found it, he could tell it did genuinely distress Harry and unfortunately, Harry had been right when he guessed that Remus wouldn’t have any relevant experience.

“Tell him he’s disowned if he dates Draco Malfoy,” Sirius said immediately. 

Remus rolled his eyes. “First of all, he hasn’t even mentioned Draco Malfoy, and secondly, we can’t disown him! We’re his godparents!”

“We can disgodown him, then.”

Remus shook his head, tapping out a rhythm on the desk as he racked his brain for anything helpful he could write back. He’d almost forgotten Sirius was still there when he spoke again.

“Actually… this could work. I take back the disgodowning. I think he should go for it.”

“What?” Remus blinked, frowning. “What brought on the sudden change of heart?”

“Can you imagine Cissy’s face when her son brings home a dirty half-blood who associates with Weasleys and muggleborns?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, idk why but this felt like it was so much longer than it actually ended up being??? Thank you for going on this journey with me! This is the end (so far) of this universe, but I'm always up for suggestions. <3


End file.
